


Snap, Crackle, Pop

by Cleo2010



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo2010/pseuds/Cleo2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a gift to the wonderful and tremendously gifted artiste theotherwillow who desired some unrequited, then very much requited love. You have that and two of my favourite side characters in Lestrade and Mrs Hudson who are brilliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Castration isn't kinky"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheOtherWillow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtherWillow/gifts).



John sat sipping his warm-ish pint at the bar staring into space. The crisis he was suffering was deserving of a higher alcohol content but he wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d be able to find his way home if he got too sozzled. He’d set off walking a few hours ago, trudging through parts of London he hadn't known existed and parts he will probably forget. He wasn't taking in the scenery, he just had to keep walking. After a few hours his feet started to ache and the rain started to really come down so he ducked inside the nearest warm looking pub. 

It was a rundown establishment but it had its charm. It was one of those places that had been around for a hundred years easily with a huge roaring fireplace and horse brasses over the bar. The smell of tobacco hadn't left the walls even years after the smoking ban. He couldn’t remember the name of the pub but it really didn’t matter, he needed a beer. Maybe a lot of beer.

He's been nursing his third glass when someone took the bar stool next to him. “Rough night, John?” John snapped out of his middle distance stare long enough to register that it was D.I. Lestrade. The detective was trying to gain the attention of the overweight and heavily tattooed barman with the flash of a tenner. It was strange to see him in his casual clothes, jeans and a rugby shirt. They hadn’t spent that much time together outside of cases. Whenever he and Sherlock solved a case they usually disappeared off for dinner absolutely famished. John wasn’t sure if he wanted the company. “Pint of bitter, please." He turned to John who was trying to look a little less morose and failing miserably. "You want another? Look like you need it.” 

“Uh, yeah." John said out of some painfully polite reflex. "Same again.” 

“So what’s up? You look like you’ve found a head in your fridge.”

“Oh, that happened months ago. No, I, um...” John downed the last of his pint and glugged at his fresh one that had been planted in front of him. “I think I’ve done something very stupid. Monumentally stupid. So stupid it should be illegal really.”

“Um, well I probably should remind you that you’re talking to a D.I. here. Don’t want to have to arrest you, at least not before my first pint.” 

John half snorted a laugh. “I think should be sectioned actually.”

“So, what did you do?”

“Ugh, to be honest, I doubt the humiliation of saying it out loud is really going to help right now.”

Lestrade pulls out a fresh ten pound note. “Two double vodkas please. The good stuff.”

“Is that really a better idea?”

“Can’t hurt. You didn’t shag Anderson, did you? The lad gets around.”

John laughs. “No, but I’m sure on the insanity scale I’m not far off.”

“There, get those down you.”

John gawped at the two huge shots. “Both of them?”

“I’m not gonna be much use to you if I’m rat-arsed, am I?”

"Detective-"

"Sod that, you can call me Greg. Down the hatch." 

John shrugged and downed a shot, it wasn't going to be the most stupid thing he'd done that evening. “Ugh, haven’t had a straight vodka since I was last on leave.” He pulled a pained face and wasn’t entirely sure that it hadn’t been cooked up in the barman’s shed. If this was the good stuff then the bad could strip the varnish off the bar.

“It’s good for you, one of your five a day.” Lestrade quipped. “So where’s your partner in crime?” John pulled another face this time without the alcohol. Lestrade grinned lopsidedly. “Right, so it’s something to do with Sherlock then?”

John didn’t reply, he downed the other double and regretted it instantly when his stomach began to roll. He hadn’t drunk that often since coming back home and bootleg vodka was never a good idea. 

“Feel ready to tell me now?”

“No.” He really wished Lestrade didn’t look quite so knowing but it wasn’t like he was making much of an effort to hide his distress. Maybe it would help to talk about it, John mused.

“I’m not exactly gonna broadcast it over the Yard, I’m guessing Sherlock got you to do something for one of his experiments, can’t be that terrible. You said whatever you did should be illegal and I’m pretty sure most of the nasty stuff you can do with a dead body is against the law already. Trust me, John, I’ve been around the block a few times.”

“I’m in love with Sherlock.”

Silence.

Lestrade opened his mouth only to close it again and sigh. More silence. John took a swig of beer. So did Lestrade. Saying it out loud definitely hadn’t helped. In fact he was considering slinking off his chair and laying down outside and hope the rain would drown him before morning.

“Well...” started Lestrade purposefully, “you’re right. Probably should be illegal.” John half laughed despairingly and resisted the temptation to lay his head on the bar for fear he’d never lift it again. “I didn’t think you were... that way inclined.”

“You mean men or madmen specifically?”

“Both I guess.” Lestrade smiled. 

“Well it’s not like a fifty-fifty thing, I mostly prefer women it’s just every now and then...”

“You fall for a madman.”

“It would seem so this time. I’m insane. I’ve gone round the bloomin’ bend. Loop the flippin' loop.”

“Little bit. I mean, you two seem really compatible, no one guessed you’d stick around past the first week but there must be something there. Does Sherlock know?”

“Not yet, at least I don’t think so." The vodka threatened to rise at the thought that Sherlock might already know. "I wasn’t subtle when I left. He’ll work it out though, won’t he? If not now then soon.” John sighed resignedly. “Then I’ll have to move out, no more cases, no more blogging, no more... him. Bloody him.” 

“But what if he liked you back?”

“Yeah, right!” He scoffs. “Sherlock’s married to his work, he’s made that perfectly clear. This is as good as it gets and I’ve gone and bloody ruined it. I mean, have you ever seen Sherlock with someone? Romantically?” 

“No. But that doesn’t mean he...” Lestrade catches John’s withering look and stops. “Ok, but Sherlock hasn’t even tolerated someone as long as you before. That’s something.”

“Lovely. Sherlock tolerates me. I shall include that in our wedding vows. Do you Sherlock, promise to tolerate, endure and generally put up with your lovesick flatmate until death do you part?” The sarcasm is obvious but so is the pain. 

“It’ll get better. You’ll get over it, probably just a crush. An infatuation.”

“That’s the trouble, I don’t think it is.” 

“Then maybe you could just test the waters then, see if it’s a lost cause.”

“How?”

“Talk to him about relationships, the future, does he know you’re bisexual?”

“Probably, I don’t know, it’s not like we sit watching Bond film and I say I’d have a go at Daniel Craig.”

“Craig really? What about Connery? He’s sex on legs.” Lestrade replies in all seriousness.

“He’s the biggest man whore to ever grace the screen, wait, why are we, what? How strong was that vodka?”

“Pretty strong, I think your left eye has fallen asleep.”

John gave his eye a rub, it had closed of its own accord. “Come on, I’ll buy the next round and get you caught up. I’m going to forget all about Sherlock Holmes by the end of tonight.”

“Yeah, we’ve all tried that at some point, mate, never works.”

“I love him, Greg, I bloody love him so much.” John thought that the vodka's might be kicking in.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. Come on, let’s get a table.” 

~~~*~~~

A couple of hours and far too many drinks later...

Lestrade was gesticulating wildly, becoming much more animated with a few drinks inside him which was evidenced by the empties that surrounded them. John was listening eagerly, thankful that he had a break from Sherlock and the mess inside his head and heart. “So I was there, right, I had Kirk handcuffed to the lamppost, I was sat on top of Spock because I didn’t have any more cuffs and Sally was trying to subdue Uhura.”

“Are Sci-Fi conventions really that interesting?"

"Oh yeah, nothing but trouble."

"You know, Sally would make a good you-hoo, uh-herra, that woman with the big hair.”

“Yeah, I said that! She wasn’t best pleased though. She could melt a guys nuts off with the wrong look, you know.”

“Kinky.”

“Castration isn’t kinky; you’ve been hanging out with Shlock too long.” Lestrade slurs, his cheeks flushed with alcohol.

“Shlock?” John smiles and cocks an eyebrow. 

“Sherlock, Schmerlock, whatever, that’s your phone again. He texts you a lot.”

“Yeah, one of those nights. It’s Sherlock asking where I am again. Probably wants a pen.”

“Or a pen-is.”

They both snigger like schoolboys. “That was the worst pun in the world. Who knew you had such a level of wit.”

“Why thank you.” Lestrade bows and knocks back the rest of his drink. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You can ask, might not give you an answer." John had an idea what the question was, it was the one he'd been asking himself during the walk to this pub.

"Why Sherlock?" 

There it was. Why. Lestrade hadn't asked him with disbelief that anyone could love the man, he just seemed to want to know what John saw. 

"That's a really big question."

"We've got time."

John sighed and rubbed his face to try and sober himself up a bit. "Well there's the obvious stuff, he's brilliant and just so full of life, that sounds crap to say but have you ever seen anyone look so alive when he's in his element? It's like he's full of his own electricity, like he could do anything, like solving the puzzle is an inevitability. But it's more than that, it's like we enhance each other, we make the other so much more than we are alone. Before I met Sherlock I was... I was in a really bad way to be honest. Like John Watson had died in the war and this empty shell came home. I was angry too, resentful that I'd lost my life but had to keep living it anyway." John really wasn't sure how much he should share, but the alcohol was numbing his concern. Lestrade sat calmly and listened. "Then we met and I felt... I felt like me again but different, like I was remade. You know the thing with my leg, right?" Lestrade nodded. "God we ran for miles home, like it was nothing and everything."

"I heard he'd cured you over dinner."

"Sort of, we chased a cab and then ran all the way home. He probably knew how to fix me just seconds after meeting me. It's not all one way though, Sherlock's happy and I think, if it's not too bigheaded, I'm a part of that. It's like I'm inside a barrier and it's just us in our own secret world. Us versus all the noise and the ignorant."

"I hope you're paraphrasing Sherlock."

John sniggers, "That or I really am turning into him. I thought that maybe it was a really intense friendship and maybe we'd just become dependent on each other in a fucked up way that sort of worked. It's just everything, the way he smiles and what he smiles at, the fact that I of all people can make him laugh and take care of him without him really knowing. Not to mention he's got an arse you can't take your eyes off-"

"Yeah, got it!"

John laughs, "You know you've looked."

"I'll never speak."

John sighs again, he can see Sherlock in his mind's eye, he's rushing around the flat buzzing with some revelation he's pieced together. John couldn't lose that, he needed Sherlock, he needed to feel alive. "There's no one else like him, there won't ever be anyone else like him. He's rude, a total drama queen, can barely look after himself and bolshy as fuck but... I'd follow him anywhere, I'd do anything for him and if that's not the scariest realisation yet. It's just not healthy, this isn't normal. What the hell have I done?"

"Think that pretty much sums up being properly in love though."

John’s phone chimes again. “I really should be heading home. Um, where am I?”

“You’re in a pub, The Bluebird.”

“Right, yeah, which part of London though? I just started walking, wasn’t really concentrating.” 

“Have you even got enough money for a taxi or the tube home? You’re miles away, mate.”

John opens his wallet. “Um, I have... eight pence and a stamp.”

“Come on, come home with me. Text Sherlock or he’ll worry.”

"He'll be worrying about how to tell me to leave."

"Don't be dramatic, are you staying over or not?"

“Fine, my back hasn’t known the pain of a sofa for a while.”

“I have a spare bed you whinger.” Lestrade slides out from the table and sways a little. John does the same. “I’m just around the corner.”

“Fine, yeah, lemme just text.”

“Don’t say anything stupid.”

“Like ‘do you want my pen-is?’” 

“Yeah, stuff like that.” 

John concentrates on his spelling to hide his inebriation and lets him know where he’ll be spending the night. 

“Done. Off then?” They walk out from the warmth of the pub and into the mizzling rain. 

“Why’d you walk so far?”

“Because I love Sherlock. God, it sounds even more stupid each time I say it.” John stumbles sideways a bit and Lestrade steadies him. 

“No, what specifically kicked all this off?”

“Tonight was the first time I realised.”

“Oh. Well that would do it. What happened?”

John smiled warmly at the memory. “He made me laugh, he was telling me about this serial poisoner who contaminated rice crispies and he made this joke about Snap, Crackle and Pop being the 'Kelloggs Three' and it hit me like a ton of fucking lead bricks. I love him. It was just overwhelming. I just wanted to kiss him right there in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, don’t need to elaborate on that point.”

“Well I didn’t really want to either. I made an excuse to leave and bolted. I can’t believe I let it happen. I love him, bloody hell.”

“You loved him from the start, didn’t you?”

“Last few months perhaps, I don’t believe in love at first sight. Lust, but not love. I mean there was Sarah.”

“You shot the cabbie.” Lestrade says boldly. 

John stops walking. “I-I didn’t.”

“There’s a reason Sherlock doesn’t think I’m completely stupid, don’t worry, not gonna drag you in. We’re getting wet and that’s your phone again.”

"Greg-" John had wondered whether things could get worse. Could Lestrade arrest him while drunk?

"It's alright John, these things happen. You were right, Sherlock does need you, you're a good man and a serial killer is dead. That's a good case for me." 

John can only nod and they start walking again. John eventually remembers he had a text and fishes his phone from his pocket which takes a lot more effort than usual. “Sherlock says I’m drunk.”

“He’s drunk?”

“No, I’m drunk, he knows I’m drunk and to ask you if you’ve got any cases.”

“Tell him I have a case about a bi-ex soldier who definitely did not shoot anyone for the idiot the first day he met him but definitely needs a good shag from the great detective.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” John texts back something much more sensible.

“Here we are. Home sweet home.”

“Just tell me it’s a lost cause.” John slumps against the wall looking quite pitiful. “If it’s a lost cause then I can forget this.”

“I can’t, I don’t know, Sherlock’s complicated, I can’t fathom the man. I never really seen him with anyone like he is with you.”

“It is a lost cause though, isn't it? I’m never... I’m never going to get to have him.”

“Chin up, John, stranger things have happened.”

John followed Lestrade indoors. "Never this strange."


	2. "Built like rhinos"

Sherlock paced the flat. John had left. Not just left, but fled. At pace. Sherlock didn’t even catch his excuse for leaving but he already knew it was made up. He typed a text. 

_Can you come home? SH_

He deleted it. He tried again.

_If you’re going to the shops can you get some bread? SH_

He deleted that too and cursed himself. He paced the living room a few times more.

_I didn’t mean to._

“Damn phone!” He launched the phone at the sofa and went to find something he could throw and actually break. Dishes seemed like an excellent choice. With an arm full of already chipped plates he was halted quickly by a knock at the door. John would have used his keys but there was the possibility he left them behind in his haste, it could be John. 

Sherlock dumps the plates carelessly on the table and rushes to the door, flinging it open hoping that his flatmate will be standing on the other side. They could forget everything, he didn’t see why anything had to change. Things were fine the way they were. 

“Ah, Mrs Hudson.” Sherlock couldn’t hide his disappointment but it didn’t seem to worry the unflappable landlady. 

“Hello Sherlock, I was wondering if you could do me a small favour.”

Sherlock looks past her. The hallway is empty. He returned his full attention to Mrs Hudson and cursed her for not being John. “Considering you’ve asked me favours ranging from lending milk to helping secure the fate of your husband I’ll wait for more detail.” 

“Light bulb Sherlock, the bathroom is pitch black without it and I don’t trust myself nowadays. These legs aren’t as steady as they used to be, can’t be going and breaking a hip can I?”

“Of course not.” It would be a distraction until John returned; he was most likely at the corner shop thinking things over. Sherlock hated not knowing which conclusion he'd would come to without being able to influence him. “I’ll be down in one minute.”

“I’ll put the kettle on, dear.”Mrs Hudson rushes off down the stairs, spritely for her age. 

“Oh, I can’t stay.” He calls after her. He wants to be home when John gets back. If he comes back. 

“Nonsense, dear.” She calls back.

There was little use arguing, she was already gone and the tea would be made by the time he was done. He'd still be able t o hear if John returned. He collected his mobile phone and set it on to the loudest setting so he wouldn’t miss a text or call. He paused for a moment and wrote a message. 

_At Mrs Hudson’s changing a bulb. Might be dangerous. SH_

He pressed send before he could change his mind. He didn’t quite believe how stupid he’d been. John’s face as he’d left, it was so obvious. He left his jacket behind and walked briskly down to Mrs Hudson’s. The time would pass quicker if he was busy. Less things would get broken too.

“In here, Sherlock.” Cooed Mrs Hudson from the back of the flat. Sherlock found her holding a fresh bulb, a torch and a small step ladder. “Thank you, my dear, where would I be without nice men like you?”

“Married and having a bath in the dark it would seem.” Sherlock set up the step ladder in the windowless bathroom and quickly changed the bulb. He smiled to himself when he examined the filament. He screwed in the fresh bulb and climbed down.

“How about that tea then? I have some biscuits too if you’ve eaten your dinner.”

He hadn't eaten but he wouldn't turn down the biscuits. “Lovely.” Sherlock replied distractedly and followed her through to her comfortable living room crammed with feminine furniture and an array of floral patterns. Mrs Hudson went to open her mouth but Sherlock cut her off. “You want to talk to me about John.”

She looked taken aback and a little put out. “Yes.” She conceded. “I saw him leave earlier in ever such a hurry, looked awfully upset. How did you know?”

“Filament. You broke the bulb on purpose, a ruse to bring me down here. Next time break it with the light switched on, the filament burns.”

“It got you down here," she smiles wryly, "but I’ll keep that in mind for the future. I don’t think I’ll use the same trick twice.” 

“Very wise.” 

Mrs Hudson looked expectantly at Sherlock who stubbornly filled his mouth with a Jammy Dodger. “So, what happened? Did you have a fight again? I didn’t hear shouting.”

Sherlock made her wait to finish his mouthful. She was patient but Sherlock knew that she had a gloriously stubborn side. “No, we didn't have a fight.”

“You’ve been so happy recently, Sherlock. I was thinking..." Mrs Hudson was choosing her words carefully. "I was thinking that maybe John was the reason you had a spring in your step.” 

Her sympathetic tone caught Sherlock off-guard. These types of conversations were new to him. “I- We’re fine. Just a misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about or nose around in.” 

“Sherlock.” She used a tone that reminded him of his mother. “I may not be as clever as you but I’m no fool. I’m very good at keeping secrets; you look like you could do with a friend who’s not your John.”

“He’s not _my John..._ " Sherlock retorts sharply before quickly collecting himself. "I’m fine, we’re fine, everything will have blown over by morning.” 

“Oh Sherlock, you silly boy.”

He'd given away far too much. Again. “I should be going.” He desperately needed to get himself under control, he'd slipped up twice and once was enough to cost him more than he could bear. He needed to retreat, he needed to think. 

Mrs Hudson stopped him with a hand on his knee. “You’ve fallen head over heels haven’t you? He said no, I take it?”

He settles back into the seat. Perhaps an ally would be useful. “I didn’t ask but I believe the answer was no.” Not just 'no' but 'I'm so horrified I'm going to leave the flat and not tell you if I'm coming back.'

“How on earth could he know if you didn’t ask?” She scoffs.

“He worked it out. I made a joke which he found pleasing and we shared this... look. He made an excuse shortly after and left. I must have given myself away, I was feeling quite... fond towards him.”

“That doesn’t mean he knows, Sherlock. You do love him though, don’t you?”

“It’s irrelevant. John is straight. Very straight.” Sherlock thinks back to the various women John has dated and slept with since they moved in together. He felt a little sick and set down his tea.

“I beg to differ.”

“Really?” Sherlock cocks a rather disbelieving eyebrow. “Explain.” He'll at least hear out the evidence.

“Well for one I’ve seen him looking quite fondly at you.”

“John admires me.” 

“Then he also ‘admires’ your bottom. I’ve always been more of a thigh person myself, especially rugby players, built like rhinos.” 

“Mrs Hudson, please.” Sherlock winces a little. Either way, she's mistaken. Sherlock hadn't seen John react with romantic or sexual interest to any man. 

“I’m still a woman after all.”

“Yes, I’m painfully aware.”

“Of course dear, not your area. I’m sure if you talk to him properly you can sort this out.”

“Talking would be counterproductive, I would like to maintain the status quo.” He didn't want John to move out, he didn't want to have to use Ander son on cases ever again. He didn't want anyone else. 

“You don’t get anywhere in life not taking chances.”

“I take chances but I weigh up the benefits, I have a lot to lose.”

“I know, dear.” 

Sherlock hates the pity but figures he must make a pity-worthy sight. “I trust you’ll make no mention of this to John.”

“Of course not but I wouldn’t be so sure about how he feels, he’s rather taken with you.”

“We’re friends, that’s good enough. It won’t take me long to rid myself of any further feelings beyond that.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“For other people, perhaps.” 

“I give you a week before you’re back at my door, my dear. I’ve walked this earth long enough to know.”

“Thank you," It was a blatant brush off, "I should be going now.”

“Sherlock, don’t be silly, talk to me about John. How long have you known?”

“I’m not discussing this.” Sherlock stands up. “Goodnight, Mrs Hudson.”

“Sherlock, just see how it goes, I don’t think things are as hopeless as you think.”

“He fled the flat. He’s not stupid, he knows. I have to make him forget, make him see it’s not an issue. I’ll be going now.”

“I’ll see you next week.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some ruse to get me down here.”

“No need, you’ll find me.”

“We’ll see.”

Sherlock left his tea half drunk and his second biscuit half eaten. Mrs Hudson shook her head and let him leave without further debate. Sherlock could see that she was holding fast to her belief that Sherlock would return to her door but Sherlock had work to do. Firstly, reassure John that nothing need change and then erase any romantic feelings. He should have nipped them in the bud the moment they had appeared but he’d enjoyed the rush, the excitement, the sheer pleasure of being near John. It had been thrilling. 

Now not so much.


	3. "Genghis Khan would be a better flatmate."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you read the first version this wasn't chapter three. This is what _should _have been chapter three. Now we get more John and Lestrade! Huzzah!__

John's hangover was just a few degrees short of deadly but waking in a bed made for a nice change. The cold light of day hadn't improved his situation, in fact it had given him the time to dwell and decide that Sherlock knew. If he didn't know it would only take one look at his face and that would be it. The end.

"You bloody idiot John Watson." He muttered into his own hands before being offended by his own morning breath. "Ugh, how hasn't he jumped me already?" he chastised himself sarcastically. "Disgusting." 

John finally dragged himself out of bed when the smell of bacon crept under the door. Throwing on some of last night's clothes he wanders downstairs to find that Greg is a surprisingly perky morning person. 

"Morning sunshine, help yourself to tea." Greg points with his eggy spatula. "God, you look like you're ready for Molly."

"I'm past that, just bury me." John slumps at the kitchen table and pours out some tea. "Smells good."

"My weekend ritual, used to spend my Saturday mornings smoking in bed. Since I quit, I decided to treat myself to another vice to ease me into an early grave."

"Heart attack is quicker than lung cancer."

"See? There's a method to my madness. Mushrooms?"

"Mmm, yes, the works."

"Good man. How'd you feel?"

"Doomed. Thanks though, for the ethanol and sympathy."

"Was fun, we should do it again, maybe catch the rugby."

"Sounds good but no vodka." John thought about how spending nights away from Sherlock might be a good idea but at the rate he was going he would be lucky to still call Baker Street home a month from now. He added an extra sugar to his tea.

"Yeah, it's pretty lethal. Barely legal Russian import. Remember the first time Barry served me some, just caught the woman I was madly in love with cheating on me with some body builder type. Don't remember much after the fourth shot but I did wake up in some transvestites bath in Soho with a phone number in lipstick on my chest."

"Good night then."

"Yeah, Steve was a nice guy." He smirked and John giggled into his sleeve. "Right, eat up. You'll need your strength."

~~~*~~~

After a gloriously greasy fry up John was still faced with the prospect of heading home.

“As much as it’s been fun mate, you can’t live here.” Greg began as he started the washing up. John helpfully picked up a tea towel, ready to do the drying. 

“I’d be a better flatmate than Sherlock.” John waved the tea towel. “See, I’m helpful.”

“Genghis Khan would be a better flatmate.”

“He’s not that bad. I'm not perfect, I've got my own bad habits.” 

“You're not as ordinary as you look.”

“Yeah, I look like I should be in an office job selling paper with a crush on the receptionist." John dried the plates as they came, there weren't enough of them to kill the amount of time he needed which was about three years. "Something remotely normal.”

“Normal is boring.” Lestrade smirked which made John huff a gloomy laugh.

“Come on, let the rest of the stuff dry. I’ll call a cab, you can stop off at a cash point on the way home. You need to get it over with. Won't be as bad as you're thinking.”

“What am I going to say?” John rested his aching head in his hands. “I left for no real reason, got drunk and didn’t come home. I’ve got to explain myself.”

“He’s not your wife. Or husband.”

“We’re... close though. Sometimes I feel like we’re married.”

“All the joy of being married without the sex.”

“Exactly.” John did rather like that they’d touch occasionally and maybe they’d sit a little too close on the sofa together. Sherlock had never objected. He hadn’t realised he’d been falling for him all along. It all seemed more inappropriate now. And stupid, very stupid.

“Look John, you both deserve to be happy and to be honest, I really don’t know what goes on in Sherlock’s head sometimes but I really think you should find some more things out before you go crying into a pint again.”

“I wasn’t crying.” John muttered.

“Is that the point you want to argue?” Lestrade gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Just see, ok? Sherlock’s not going to do things the normal way.”

“Alright." He lied, he was probably going to have to find somewhere else to live. He cursed himself for not handling everything better. "You sure I can’t move in?” John grinned, only half joking.

“Your tea towel skills aren’t that great. Go on, have a shower, I'll call a cab.”

~~~*~~~

As John left Lestrade's flat he text Sherlock to let him know he was on his way back and asked if they needed anything. Sherlock wanted agar dishes. Right. John found this disconcerting but it certainly didn’t seem that Sherlock was overly concerned by his sudden dash out the flat but it was hard to read into the words 'agar dishes'. He made a quick detour to Tesco's to waste a bit more time. 

John felt a little sick as the taxi pulled up outside 221B. He got out of the cab with his bags of shopping and the remains of his hangover. "Right, act like nothing happened, he doesn't know a thing." He told himself but his nerves were building fast. Just as he was letting himself in the front door of the building it opened of its own accord. 

"Ah John, back after a night on the town?"

John winced, he'd never really noticed the pitch of Mrs Hudson's voice before. Did everyone have to be so perky first thing? John ignored the voice in his head that told him it was actually lunch time and he wasn't as young as he used to be. "Something like that. Drinks with D.I. Lestrade."

"Oh he's a nice man, Sherlock thinks fondly of him. Not as much as you, mind."

John almost didn't smother the wry laugh that caught him off guard. He was fully expecting Sherlock to tell him to move out because he'd gotten 'too attached'. "Sherlock makes do with us."

"Oh I wouldn't put yourself down. You better head up, you're looking a little peaky, my dear."

"Yeah, could do with a cuppa." John tried a smile, it would delay going upstairs and Mrs Hudson made a marvellous cup of tea.

"Don't look at me, dear. Off with you now."

"Worth a try." John smiled again and started up the stairs. 

"John?" Mrs Hudson called after him. John almost slipped back a step as he turned around. "Handle Sherlock with care, all this is new to him."

John stared at her a little confused. What did she know about last night? John remembered one of the texts Sherlock had sent him, he'd changed a bulb for Mrs Hudson. Might be dangerous. John's heart had panged so hard it physically hurt. He'd hoped that Sherlock had been giving him a signal to come home but he was still in shock. Love, he'd fallen in bloody love. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Never mind. I'm just talking nonsense, I'm sure I'll hear you up to no good later." 

"Think I'll have a quiet one today. Bye, Mrs Hudson." John replied before trekking up the stairs once again. He had no more excuses. He let himself in as quietly as possible.

"Ah John! Did you get the agar dishes?" Sherlock seemed bright enough, bustling around the kitchen. He smelt fresh out of the shower too, he'd only just gotten dressed in a crisp black shirt and tailored trousers. John's palms began to sweat. 

"They didn't have any at the Tesco Express." John replied sardonically. "I bought you a bueno though." Sherlock had been forced to eat one as it was the only palatable item on the train and thoroughly enjoyed it, if anything it had been quite obscene how much he'd enjoyed eating it. John thought he could do this, he could act normal. 

"Ooh, give."

"Have you had anything that could be referred to a food today? Something that grew out of the ground or on a tree perhaps?" 

"Yes." 

John knew better. "What did you eat?"

"A polo, come on, I'm hungry." He could almost be described as pleading if he wasn't so demanding. 

"I'll boil you up some spinach and ricotta tortellini." 

"Fine." Sherlock huffed. 

John moved around Sherlock who was still organising something on the kitchen table to grab a large pot and fill it with water and a drop of olive oil. It was time to bite the bullet. He kept busy with the pasta so he didn't actually have to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Look about yesterday-"

"There might be an interesting case in Guernsey, I didn't think anything remotely interesting happened there beyond some tedious tax avoidance but this might be worth a scrap of my time."

"Sher-" John had to meet his eyes now, they had to talk but he wasn't expecting Sherlock to be ready to meet his gaze. Not just looking, but staring intently. John understood. Last night wasn't to be discussed and things would carry on as normal. He was giving him a chance to sort himself out. That he could do. He didn't want to leave. Or at least he wasn't ready to leave yet. He'd get over this. He could get over Sherlock. It wasn't going to happen, Sherlock was letting him know with one intense look that it wasn't going to happen. All he had to do was agree not to discuss last night. His stomach sank. John hadn't known he'd held out so much hope until it was gone.

"Go on then, tell me all about the case." 

The agreement was made.


	4. "Maybe you do need a cat lady."

Lestrade texted the next weekend to see about meeting up at the same pub for a couple of pints with the offer of a bed if he couldn't make it home. John wondered exactly how much alcohol _'a couple of pints'_ actually consisted if it meant he might not make it home. Sherlock was performing some experiment involving various different types of wool from regular sheep to alpaca llamas which had him suitably enthralled so John took up the offer. Things had been going well since _That Night_ but he could do with some time socialising with people who weren't Sherlock. Specifically, people he wasn't in love with.

John strolled in just after seven, brushing the rain out of his hair. The pub was warm and inviting, the same old men seemed to be occupying the same tables as the weekend before.

"Really coming down again." 

"Hey mate, pint of Kronenberg?" 

"Please." John shucked off his coat and leaned on the bar. He'd been such a state last time he'd visited here, it felt nice to know his world hadn't imploded like he'd feared.

"You look cheerful, you haven't got news for me have you?"

"Not what you're thinking. Things are just good."

"Good?" Lestrade handed John his pint, grabbed his own glass of bitter and took a seat at the booth they'd sat in last weekend. 

"Yeah, well I think things are going to be alright. Um, Sherlock knew of course, but I was stupid to think he didn't, but he's giving me a chance to get it all under control and things have been... good. Normal. Better even."

"So you talked it all out?" Lestrade remained sceptical, John wondered if he had some instinct honed by hundreds of interrogations or he could just see right through him. 

"We didn't exactly... talk." 

Lestrade gave John and exasperated look which he felt was a little undeserved but again he blamed Lestrade's overzealous detective instincts, "So you two have a hive mind thing now?"

"Shut up." John chided with a smile. "It's all fine, Sherlock gave me a look that said we would just ignore what happened and we'd carry on as normal. I tried to bring it up again yesterday but Sherlock changed the subject to something about smuggled scorpions. He's fine with it. It's all fine." 

"So your solution to this whole issue is 'ignore it and it'll go away'?"

John took a sip of his pint and reflected for a moment. "Yeah." It sounded worse than in practice. This was for the best. John had as much of Sherlock as Sherlock was willing to give and for now, that was enough. Sure he found falling asleep more difficult since Sherlock 'said' no but all in all, it would be worse not to see him every day.

"Sterling work, only a genius and qualified medical doctor could come up with such a perfect solution. You two should get into couples counselling, you'd make a mint. You could write and book while Sherlock gives people lessons on how to communicate important, life altering conversations through 'looking'. Useless, utterly useless."

"Something special crawled up your arse today because I can be called useless at home?" John quirked, he'd seen Lestrade stressed enough to know when he was feeling harassed.

"Week from hell," he sighed, "that and my brother is trying to set me up on a date with some woman from his work so I don't, and I quote, 'become a dried up husk of a man with a gut and a subscription to Fantasy XXX.' Andrew's a wanker, I'm bloody fine as I am."

"Didn't know you had a brother."

"Two brothers, two sisters. All of them trying to pair me up and telling me to move on by throwing cat women at me. And not the Michelle Pfeiffer-type cat woman, but women who have cats and call them names like Mr-sodding-Boots and Mrs-bloody-Wetherspoon." Lestrade pauses realising he's been ranting quite loudly and a couple of old boys are giving them both a filthy stare. "Um, you have a sister, right?"

"Yeah, Harry. I'll swop her for one of yours, I'll take the cat women."

"You're not that desperate yet, mate."

"Think I'm getting there. I could set you up with Sarah if you'd like, as long as you didn't get her kidnapped it would classed as a good date."

"Well done on lowering expectations there." Lestrade tips his glass.

"Weird thing, if Sherlock was ever the type to date, I think getting snatched would actually work in my favour." John smiles rather sadly. "Sorry, won't go on about him."

"Maybe you do need a cat lady."

~~~*~~~

"Cooie! Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson appeared at the door to the kitchen. Sherlock didn't look up, he was trying to prepare a slide. 

"Here for your weekly visit? I said I wouldn't need you." Sherlock wasn't so sure. The past week had been somewhat trying purely by the fact that things had been going so smoothly. Still, he didn't need support, he never needed support.

"No dear, this parcel arrived for you." She set down the small box. They were Sherlock's agar dishes. "It isn't ticking, that's usually a good sign."

"Bombs rarely tick, Hollywood construct." Sherlock still hadn't looked up. 

"That's nice dear. I'll leave you to your knitting."

"Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock wasn't entirely sure why he said her name but he assumed she'd come to fish a little. Sherlock finally looked up. Mrs Hudson was looking expectant and kind, he'd liked Mrs Hudson from the moment he met her. She was quietly feisty, not a pushover by far. She'd always been different.

"Yes?" She hovered, still ready to leave.

"Things are fine." Sherlock confirmed though proving the point seemed redundant, he said everything would be fine.

"I know, I'm not here to pry." She tapped on the woodwork. "Not unless you want me to?"

"No." Sherlock didn't hesitate, there was only one answer he'd give.

"That's good. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, John made sure before he left."

"He's good at taking care of you." 

"I don't need taking care of." Sherlock returned his attention to his slides, satisfied he'd managed to elicit a weighted response thus proving that Mrs Hudson was still invested in her doomed plan.

"I beg to differ, dear."

"Eating gets in the way of more important things. You can leave."

"Yes, yes." She waved her hand in the air having seen through Sherlock. "Have fun."

"Wait." 

"Yes?"

Sherlock could see the smile in her eyes. Mrs Hudson had fallen out of love with her husband, perhaps she could lend some insight. That was presuming she'd loved him in the first place. Sherlock had failed so far in his attempts to delete his feelings but he wasn't ready to admit defeat yet. "Nothing."

"Oh Sherlock, you do make the simplest things difficult. Had he worked it out?"

"Yes." Sherlock replies coldly even though his chest hurts to say it aloud.

"And?"

"And we've agreed not to discuss it and things will carry on as normal. So far it's been marvellously effective." 

"You had a chat then?"

"No chat was required, he understood it wasn't to be discussed. It's my problem anyway."

"My word you're both as bad as each other!"

"I thought the solution was quite elegant. The simplest choice is often the best."

"There nothing simple about loving someone."

"I don't... I won't soon enough."

"Yes you will and it'll be a shame because he likes you, you've just got to do a little persuading that you won't drop him the moment you get bored."

"I wouldn't get bored of John but that's academic."

Mrs Hudson clucks and shakes her head. "See you soon Sherlock, you're always welcome at my door."

~~~*~~~

"You see John, that's the problem with men." Lestrade leans over and pockets a second stripe into the top left hand pocket. 

"Do go on, Trisha." 

"Hey! Trisha knows her shit. Broke my arm and leg on a case once, I lived for Trisha and daytime telly."

"Trisha is a hack, but give me your Lestradian wisdom oh wise one."

"Men think that everything can be overcome with mind over matter." Lestrade goes for a long pot and misses. "Damn."

"Most things can."

"Yeah, maybe a bullet wound you can walk off and keep going but you can't just will things to happen or not happen."

"What is your point?" John makes an easy pot and follows with a second. 

"The point is... my point is... fuck." 

"Yeah, exactly." John chalks up his cue again but there's hardly any felt on the tip anyway.

"Just shag Sherlock will you." Lestrade laughs when John completely screws up his shot and almost sends the cue ball flying off the table.

John laughs, Lestrade was still convinced it was a possibility. "Nope. Shag a cat lady."

"I'll shag three if you shag Sherlock."

"You slut."

"Cat lady slut I am." 

~~~*~~~

Sherlock tries to prepare his final slide but he's not concentrating. "Infuriating woman." He puts down the slide and switches on the kettle in need of some caffeine. Opening up the cupboard to fetch a mug didn't help his concentration when faced with John's favourite cup that had the periodic table printed on the side. Sherlock had been given one for free when tailing someone at a convention. He handed it to John on his return. He hadn't expected it to become John's everyday mug. It was the closest he'd come to giving John a gift. Sherlock considered 'accidently' breaking it but he placed it back carefully and took out another. "Infuriating man."

~~~*~~~

"Your round." John thrust a finger towards the bar. It waved in the air slightly and John couldn't make it stop. 

"Nah, I'm hungry. Kebab, burger?"

"Burger, yeah, good idea."

The clambered out of their seats and staggered to the door. "Your shoulder good enough for sport yet? Met has a rugby team, you're practically part of the unit."

"I'm pretty fast still. I'm good if I stay out of the scrum."

"Short guy like you in a scrum?"

"Piss off! You're what, two years off fifty?"

"Now that's below the belt 'Mr Groans-when-he-stands-up'."

John stops stock still outside a closed down restaurant. The sign still read Olivier's. 

"What?"

"Sherlock took me here, after the pool." John swallowed hard and remembered. Sherlock had insisted they came all the way here to eat, he'd told him it was important and made John put on his suit. "His parents were friends with the owners, he used to come here when he was small and the chef would make him and Mycroft jam tarts that spelled out their names. Sherlock used to gloat that his name had one extra letter but he knew that Mycroft was given one extra to take home." It was here, Sherlock letting him in that extra inch, this is where he'd fallen in love with him. "He didn't mention it had closed."

"Closed about a month ago, I took a date there once, nice place."

"Do you think he could like anyone? I mean, is it me he doesn't want or just anyone?"

"I don't know mate. You don't really know anything anyway. How much can you tell from a look?"

"You weren't there."

"Well I'm wondering if you're all there." Lestrade tapped at his temple. "Come on, you can have a little mope if you want, you've earned it."

~~~*~~~

Sherlock stands in front of Mrs Hudson's door wondering exactly how much pride he'd be spending if he were to knock. He decides too much and turns away.

"Your cup of tea is getting cold." Comes a voice from behind the door. "Come on, it's past my bedtime." 

Sherlock smirks to himself but still curses the old woman before returning to his flat as silently as he can. She'd seen his feet cast shadows under the door, he'd be more careful next time. 

John had text that he was sleeping over at Lestrade's flat again leaving Sherlock with far too much of the night to spend in his own head. He picked up a sample of yak wool but it held little interest now. He had a problem and it needed to be solved. 

Sherlock sat himself purposefully on the sofa and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. With his eyes closed and full concentration he focused on one objective. "Stop loving John." He said aloud. It was something he was actively 'doing', he could stop it. It wasn't a natural reflex like a heartbeat. "Stop loving John." He repeated again, trying to remember a time before he felt that way, when John was just a man with a cane and an interesting past. "Stop loving John." He said more loudly, "Stop loving John." Yes, he could do this, he already was starting to feel better. "Stop loving John." He was just a man, he wasn't the best at anything, he was past his prime, he was too tidy, he took too long in the shower, he didn't ever eat his crusts. "Stop loving John." Done.

Sherlock opened his eyes. The first things he saw were John's smartest shoes tucked underneath the arm chair. He'd worn them to the Olivier's Restaurant, after the pool. "Damn."

Sherlock slept in John's bed that night. Just to see what it might be like.


	5. "Choking is marginally interesting."

Another week had passed and Sherlock felt he had successfully steered them through the worst of the crisis. Of course getting John to ignore his natural instinct to 'talk' had been tricky and John had relapsed a couple of times but Sherlock had made it clear. It wouldn't be a problem so don't make it one. 

It hadn't gotten easier living with John but it was certainly better than not living with him. After John had returned from his sleepover at Lestrade's they'd created a new game where one of them would create a scenario where someone had been murdered and the other would have to provide the best way to cover it up. They were allowed one Mycroft trump card per session but Sherlock avoided using it for pride's sake. John wouldn't let Sherlock share his idea of the perfect murder, he'd teased him saying he wanted to be surprised when it eventually happened. It had been a way to pass some boring evenings and the occasional dinner. It hadn't helped Sherlock's plans to erase his romantic feelings for John in the slightest. If anything, he'd made his task more difficult.

After one night spent debating the best method of covering up a murder on a boat without dumping the body overboard he'd found himself at Mrs Hudson's door for more tea and jammy dodgers. He'd almost slipped up, he'd put his hand on John's knee but quickly turned it into a friendly pat. He couldn't show John he wasn't in control of himself. John had looked like a rabbit caught in headlights but had acted as normal the next morning. Mrs Hudson was still trying to persuade Sherlock to test the waters, convinced John would be open to the idea but Sherlock knew better. There was no hope.

Today, however, Sherlock was bored. He sat on the sofa tossing a flash drive into the air and catching it with his hands or occasionally with his mouth. 

"Thinking?" John asked as he collapsed into the chair to open his post from yesterday. It was still early and neither of them had work. Sherlock preferred to see John in his casual long sleeved sweater rather than his hideous polyester shirts for work. 

"Bored." Sherlock groaned on an exhale.

"Want to play a game? I came up with a good scenario last night involving a film set, rolling cameras and a stray eye-witness who's a made man."

"Boring."

"Come on, Hollywood and the mob, that's interesting." John scrunched up some junk mail and threw it into the bin from across the room. 

Sherlock continued to throw the flash drive in the air and caught it with his teeth.

"Careful, you'll choke."

"Choking is marginally interesting. You're here to save my life."

"Always am."

Sherlock's chest ached a little but he ignored it. "I'm booored." He groaned.

John sighed and threw a balled up envelope at him. "You really are going to choke if you keep doing that. What's on it anyway?"

"Mycroft sent it, haven't looked yet."

John spluttered, "Well you're about to choke on the solution to your boredom."

"Not interested in the slightest."

John stood up and snatched the device out of the air. Sherlock made a grab to retrieve it but John's reflexes more than matched Sherlock's. "Thought you weren't interested?"

"Give it back. It's mine to do as I please." Sherlock stayed still, giving John a cold stare but he'd found John was fairly immune to his intimidation techniques. 

"Take it." John offered it on the palm of his hand but whipped it away. "Actually, I have a better idea. Come get it." John made a dash for the door. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his interest caught. "Catch me if you can." John grinned and ran. 

Yes. Sherlock tore off after John who practically jumped down the full flight of stairs and almost crashed into Mrs Hudson. "Sorry!" John shouted before darting out the front door.   
"Be careful!" She called after them but Sherlock was already out of the door and chasing John down the street. This, Sherlock thought, was a brilliant idea. 

John turned to see how close Sherlock had gotten and laughed. Sherlock smiled too, weaving around someone delivering newspapers to the corner shop. His feet were pounding the pavement as they rounded the corner one after the other, John was compact and fast, his run efficient and easy, like he could run all day. 

It was an overcast morning but bright as a summers day for Sherlock, he was running so fast he didn't feel the cold. Sherlock was gaining ground when John darted into an alleyway behind the chippy. He could change direction with much more ease than Sherlock and used that to his advantage. The alley was blocked off by a chain link fence but that would hardly stop either of them. John sprang up and flipped his legs over like a gymnast. Sherlock took the alternative route, jumping onto the large bin and leaping over. John ran left behind the buildings, avoiding boxes and occasionally throwing one or two in Sherlock's way. John wasn't going easy on him and he loved it. He loved him for it. "Got to be better than that, John!" Sherlock taunted with a grin.

"Come on, slow coach!"

John made another change in direction, darting back to the main street and out into traffic. He was heading for the park, Sherlock thought. People were watching them run past, looking at John like he was a thief. Sherlock didn't care, he wasn't bored, he wasn't bored in the slightest. Sherlock ran into a cyclist and sent them both flying but Sherlock picked himself up, muttered an apology and tried to catch up. John had changed direction again, he'd lost sight of him but he knew where they were headed. 

There he was. Sherlock weaved and dodged, the streets were busier now, a morning market was setting up meaning John continually left his sight behind vans and awnings. Another side street, a short cut to the park but it was blocked off by a lorry almost filling the width. The space down the side was blocked off by men unloading. It didn't stop John who vaulted on to the bonnet, on to the roof and then onto the top of the container. 

"Oi!" Shouted one of the stunned men loading up the cargo.

Sherlock admired John's dedication to the chase and followed, almost slipping down the windscreen. He got on to the top of the container in time to see John lowering himself down with a bit of a jump. He heard him land with an oomph but he was off again. "Don't fall behind!" he shouted. 

"Chance'll be a fine thing!" Sherlock jumped down and rolled before taking chase again. They rounded another corner and the park was in sight. 

Another road to cross, both of them taking stupid risks not to lose this game and almost getting caught by two different coloured Ford Focuses. John climbed the railings into the park and kept going. Sherlock followed, he could catch him now, nowhere to change direction and Sherlock had better flat out speed than John. 

Sherlock was breathing hard, legs beginning ache a little but he pushed into a sprint. So close, he could hear John huffing and puffing as he tried to keep out of reach. Too late, Sherlock lunged and tackled John to the ground. "Jesus!" John exclaimed with happy surprise. Sherlock squashed on top of his back and wouldn't let him squirm free. The grass was wet and they were both getting muddy but neither of them thought to stop. Sherlock knew the grass stains would never come out of his expensive white shirt and tailored trousers but couldn't care less. 

"Give." Sherlock demanded, rolling John forcibly on to his back and pinning him down with his body while fumbling for the hand that held the flash drive. John was still wriggling and trying to get purchase to flip Sherlock over and off him. "You're caught."

"I'm gonna make you earn it." 

Sherlock laughed, grabbed both of John's hands and slammed them above his head into the wet grass. The laughter died. Sherlock was laid fully on top of John between his legs, his hips pinning him place. Their outstretched arms meant their faces were just an inch away from each other. They were still catching their breath which meant their chests were pushing and rubbing against each other with each rough inhale. There was too much contact, too much closeness. Some boundary had been passed, they'd broken an unwritten rule and Sherlock was sure they both knew. Sherlock couldn't move, he just stared at John wondering whether this was the moment he realised that their living arrangement wouldn't work.

Then John kissed him.

He raised his head off the grass and pressed his lips against the stunned Sherlock who had no time to respond to the sudden heat on his mouth. It was short, basic but very much a kiss. 

John slumped to the grass and looked away. "Shit, I'm sorry. Shit."

Sherlock still had John's hands pinned at the wrists. His brain really should have been able to cope with this new development but there was still a part of him trying to make this fit with his 'no hope' hypothesis he'd cultured. This- that- couldn't have happened.

"Um, you should let me up." John said while still looking off into the distance. 

Sherlock did the exact opposite. He bent his head round to find John's mouth and kissed him back. This time it was John who was caught off guard. It was awkward as Sherlock's forehead was in the damp grass and pressed into the side of John's arm but John eventually moved to face upwards again and finally returned the kiss. It was slow and glorious. Sherlock was beginning to reconcile what exactly was happening as he gave in a little at a time, giving more and more of himself over to the man beneath him.

It only took them a moment to find a gentle rhythm of cautious, tentative kisses with their mouths slightly open and lips reading the other. Sherlock had imagined what this moment would be like, what it might be like to kiss and be kissed by John but everything was new. He wanted to know everything now, he wanted to be perfect now. Soft lips but with one slightly chapped corner, the taste of orange juice for breakfast and the air from John's nose on his cheek. So much warmth, so much John.

Sherlock pulled back when his mind began to think about other places of John he'd like to kiss which was making other parts of his body stir. Parts of his body that were currently a bit mashed against John's. He was getting ahead of himself. "Um, did you mind that?" Sherlock asks awkwardly. John looked up at him a little petrified.

John tries to speak but has to clear his throat. "Not at all."

Sherlock let himself smile and the fright on John's face soon fades to an equally happy grin. "Good." Sherlock stole another kiss, this time releasing John's hands which instantly wrapped around him. He'd work out the error in his reasoning later and he'd take his 'I told you so' from Mrs Hudson with a grimace but right now he had one hand in John's hair and his brain was occupied in making this one of the best kisses John had ever experienced.

John's hands were slowly stroking Sherlock's back and lacing through his hair, drawing him closer still. Sherlock braced himself above John with one hand, using the other to touch John's face. He'd always been drawn to John's face, his expressions and his openness. He traced John's cheek, jaw and neck and back up again, feeling the texture of freshly shaved skin and taut neck muscle. Sherlock could quite happily stay there all day and thought about suggesting just that. 

They soon ran out of breath but neither of them had caught it after the chase. Sherlock had been wrong. Beautifully, wonderfully and ecstatically wrong. John was smiling up at him before he shook his head in disbelief and rubbed a hand over his face. "You have no idea... just no idea."

"Clearly." Sherlock smirks. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what exactly?"

"That I..." too soon for that, "I had interests beyond friendship."

"Not a flippin' clue, Sherlock." John laughs, "God, if I had." John leans up again, it had felt far too long since they'd kissed and barely a minute had passed. 

Sherlock was never going to unravel the last fortnight if they carried on like this and it was beginning to drizzle. "Why did you run out two weeks ago?"

"Because I realised that I wanted to kiss you and that was... disturbing. At the time." John corrected quickly.

"Not now though, I see." Sherlock smirked again and brushed away a rain drop that had landed on John's forehead. 

"We're going to get soaked and I can already feel that my arse is wet from the grass."

"Taxi back?"

"If they'll take us like this. Look at the state of us." John had mud and grass stains down his front and back, even the back of his hair felt dirty. Sherlock was a little better though his elbows and knees looked distinctly scandalous.

Sherlock stood and hauled John on to his feet. "This isn't a one off."

"Not for me. I'm in this completely."

"Good." Sherlock snatches the flash drive that was still in John's hand and runs.

"Sneaky bastard." John mutters before following right behind.

 

**Meanwhile back at Baker Street...**

D.I. Lestrade knocked on the door of John and Sherlock's flat. He had a case with almost no clues that Sherlock might like a look at but he also intended on inviting John out for another drink to see how things were going. 

"They've run out." Called a voice from the bottom of the stairs. "Quite literally, chasing each other like it's the first day of the summer holidays."

"Ah, right. Any idea when they'll be back?"

"Depends if Sherlock caught him, I guess. You're looking well Detective Inspector."

"Thanks Mrs Hudson," Lestrade smiled slightly awkwardly. "Do you know," he had a chance to back out but he committed to it, "how they've been getting on recently?"

Mrs Hudson's demeanour changed, she was weighing the detective up, he'd been in interrogations that felt less intimidating. "I think we need to have a little chat. Tea or coffee?"


	6. "And Angelo knew all along."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the sixth and final chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who has kudos'd and commented so far, including those who I accidently deleted, it's been a lot of fun! This chapter is why it's M-rated.

John and Sherlock never stopped for a cab. They ran home a different route, taking in more alleyways. The only difference this time was Sherlock letting himself be caught and being crushed in a breathless kiss and some rather furtive groping. John couldn't quite believe his luck, he had him, he had Sherlock. 

They were almost home but John had one more chance to grab Sherlock's arm, spin him round and push him up against a brick wall. John dived in for another kiss, almost dizzy from the lack of oxygen but he had Sherlock's body to lean against and Sherlock's hands grabbing at the small of his back to keep himself upright. His clothes were still damp and the mizzling rain wasn't helping but his skin was hot and happy enough. He trailed his kiss across the corner of Sherlock's mouth, along his cheek and down his jaw until he could taste the salt clinging to Sherlock's neck. 

"Mmm, John. Almost home."

"Bit busy right now." John mumbled before sucking a little love bite. 

"Ah, John! Careful." If Sherlock hadn't sighed those words John might have accepted the telling off. 

John was starting to get carried away and peeled himself away. Both of them stared at each other for a moment, breathing heavy for two reasons. Running was going to be a little difficult for them both now. Sherlock was first to move, pushing his body off the wall but rather than running he scooped his hand around the nape of John's neck and kissed him again, soft and almost chaste. "I thought you were going to leave. I've never been wrong about something this big before. Troubling."

"You sound more worried about your deduction skills." John smiles as he picks some grass off Sherlock's shoulder.

"So I should be." He almost smiles back. He'll get over it, John thinks. "Let's go. We need to sneak in, Mrs Hudson is going to gloat."

"Why?"

"She knows."

"Oh, well then we should avoid Lestrade too, I told him that night."

"Lovely, one person at home and at work." Sherlock frowned.

"And Angelo knew all along." John quips, lightening the mood. "Move your arse, I need a shower."

Sherlock lets out what could only be described as a salacious rumble that makes John laugh and stir deep down. He definitely wasn't able to run now. They jog back to the flat and let themselves in. "Shhh," John began before noticing Mrs Hudson and Lestrade standing in the doorway of the landlady's flat. She didn't look best pleased. "Oh, hello." It was too late for shushing now.

"God, what happened to the two of you? Have a fight?" Lestrade gaped. 

"No, not at all. Um, sorry about almost bumping into you earlier Mrs Hudson, important business you know." John wanted rid of them both so he could get upstairs, they could share the news later. Mrs Hudson was still fuming, John prepared himself for a lesson on manners.

"Well I have some much more important business for you... you silly men!" She poked them both in the arms and was practically yelling, as much as Mrs Hudson could yell. John and Sherlock stood silently, a little in shock. "I've had it up to my eyeballs with your pride and your cleverness, both of you thinking you know better when you couldn't see the wood for the trees if one poked you in the eye! Oh and John, I've seen you staring at mister 'I-know-better-than-this-silly-old-bat-so-I'm-going-to-brood-in-a-bucket-of-my-own-self-pity's' bottom and don't you dare deny it!"

John thought that he should be saying something towards his defence but even Sherlock was stunned into silence. They both looked to Lestrade for aid but he gave them a look which suggested they both had this coming. 

"And you Sherlock! Such a great detective you've been oblivious that he's been returning your love for months and you're too stubborn to let yourself be happy!"

John's eyes widened considerably at the mention of the L-word but as much as he wanted to he couldn't risk looking at Sherlock to assess his reaction. What if it wasn't mutual? What if it scared him off? John's mind was ready to race away but Mrs Hudson wasn't finished.

"Now, you will both listen to me," she waggled her finger again, "because I've walked this earth as long as the two of you put together and you'll do as you're instructed. You are going to be boyfriends, partners, lovers or whatever floats your blind little boats and you're going to spend the rest of your lives together which I hope will be long and happy but at the rate you carry on I never know. Life is far too short and you've wasted enough of it trying to out ignore the other and frankly, I've had enough! Do I have to physically bash your heads together because I'm sure the detective here will assist me." 

The hallway fell silent.

"Well?" She threatened, hands on hips and an exasperated scowl. John tried to glare at Lestrade but he was decidedly unrepentant. 

"You're absolutely right, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said brightly. John felt his hand being grabbed and pulled towards the stairs. "We'll get started right away. Come along, John."

John was stunned. "Ah yes, of course, um, see you later." John waved with a smug little grin. Of course Sherlock would know what to do.

John felt a little gratification at the momentary looks of sheer confusion of the machinating pair as Sherlock dragged him up the stairs and into the flat. As the door closed they both burst out laughing. 

"Well I guess that's us told." John quipped as the giggles calmed. Something new hung in the air now but John wasn't ready. "I really should have a shower." John needed some space, some time to think.

"Was she right?"

John wasn't going to get his time. He could steal a few extra seconds by playing dumb. "About what?"

"John." Sherlock warned. "Was she right about you... loving me?"

John could prevaricate, he could dodge and swerve and make an excuse but if this was to go down in flames eventually it might as well be now. "Yeah." 

"Well," Sherlock began, "that's... good. Very good."

John swallowed the lump in his throat. "Really? You, um, too?"

"Yes. Shower now?"

"Yeah." John smiled, pulling Sherlock towards him with a grass stained hand and dragging him down for a kiss. They were getting better at the talking thing. "Come on."

They kissed and snogged their way up the stairs, shedding clothing as they went. They were down to just trousers and one Sherlockian sock by the time they reached the bathroom. John switched on the shower to get it up to temperature while he set to work on undoing Sherlock's belt and trousers. "Are you sure this isn't too fast?"

"Been months John, we're overdue. Very long overdue." He drawled while deftly seeing to John's jeans. Sherlock's heart had been racing since John confirmed that he loved him. Sherlock had wanted to say the words but he couldn't quite bring himself to say them aloud. He'd woken up this morning telling himself to get through the day not touching John once but now they were both shucking down their underwear and wrapping themselves together so they were touching as much of each other's skin as possible. 

John's skin was a curious mixture of clammy cold and red hot, in particular the heat sitting in the crook of Sherlock's hip. They were kissing again, just a tangled delight of lips and tongue. Sherlock felt like climbing inside John such was the high of release, that he was finally able to have exactly what he wanted. 

Sherlock slipped his hands down, grabbed John's arse and laughed into John's mouth. 

"I know, it's bloody freezing. I can barely feel it." Sherlock gave it a firm pinch but John just shrugged. "See?"

"Let's warm you up." Sherlock walked John backwards, still with his warm hands on John's cold, clammy bottom, squeezing and rubbing heat into them. John seemed to be enjoying the non-practical benefits of all the attention too. 

They both climb in, John flinching a little as the hot water hit the coolest parts of his skin. They both squeeze in under the spray, the need to keep as close as possible still urgent. Sherlock wanted to take his time now, smoothing the water down the plains of John's back, stroking up John's sides and over his chest. John sensed the change too, holding Sherlock around his waist and laying small kisses to the top of his shoulder. 

The steam swirls around them, the air thicker and warm to breathe. Sherlock pushes the hair off his forehead as it's sending drips of water into his eyes. John smiles at the sight of him, hair askew and half pointing skywards before ducking down and kissing along his collar bone. 

Sherlock tilts John's chin up to look at him. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue but still... he kisses him instead so that maybe John will know that way. Making John feel it is better than hearing it, he decides. They kiss and taste each other, rocking back a forth enough just to tease, to savour the feel of their erections sliding against each other. The evidence of how they feel. 

Sherlock keeps opening his eyes every now and then, watching John kiss him and Sherlock's completely lost. He's trying to make himself believe that this is happening, that this is the start of something new and that the nagging ache of being close but so far away would finally disappear. He holds John tighter and rocks a little faster, his need for John more pressing now. 

"God, Sherlock." The second half of his name gets lost somewhere in the steam as John's fingers slip down and dig in to Sherlock's behind for more purchase. 

"We're idiots."

"Huge ones, oh, oh, just there."

That slight change was good for Sherlock too who artlessly smushed his mouth on John's again. It had been a while since he'd done this with anyone and doing it with John was getting to be too much too quickly. He tried to think of other things but it wasn't helping, John was panting into his mouth and grabbing tight. 

Sherlock forced his eyes open one more time and John's were open too. That was enough. Sherlock came apart in John's arms, thighs trembling and uncoordinated. The high and release was beautiful, lasting longer than he'd known in years. John could improve almost anything, he decided. "John, god, John." He sighed while receiving kisses on his cheeks and mouth. "You, you now." Sherlock slipped a hand down and wrapped it around John's hardness before John could be unbearably polite and give Sherlock more time to rest.

"Sher- ah, oh." John's words deserted him a vowel at a time. Sherlock liked this even more, leaning back against the warm tiles and watching John as he clung to Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock used his other hand to cup John's face, not letting him hide it in his chest. He loved this man. "Sherlock." John breathed in warning. Sherlock watched John's faced as he rode out the crests of what Sherlock thought of as his work. He kept going as long as he thought John could tolerate. Sherlock felt a little proud, he wanted John to feel as good as he did. 

As John came down from his orgasm Sherlock drew him close, soaped up a sponge and started to clean the stubborn patches of mud that had worked their way through John's clothing. After a minute or two John stirred from his resting place on Sherlock's shoulder, smiling in a slightly dreamy and content manner Sherlock found unbelievably touching.  
"I love... you." Sherlock immediately regretted the slight pause but the words were harder to say than he anticipated. 

"I love you too." John smiled in a way that reminded Sherlock that maybe hearing the words could be as important as making John feel them. He'd always mean them.

"That's properly settled then, I want things to be clear." 

John chuckles and relaxes back into Sherlock's body. The sponge still travelling up and down John's spine. "Mmm, think I might have you do this every day now."

"The washing or the..."

"Both." Sherlock feels the smile. "And the telling me you love me part. You were right, we've been bloody prats about all this."

"Turn around." Sherlock helps John turn and lay his soapy back against Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock washes his front to pleased noises from John. "We'll do better from now on."

"Yeah, we will."

"I think Mrs Hudson might make sure of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and check out TheOtherWillow's art, there's some that goes with this fic!
> 
> You can find me on twitter for writing and posting updates @CleoKat


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